by Rita Karnopp
"Sure did. He left early this morning. He's scoutin' for the General. Plannin' on guidin' that troop of young pups we got in yesterday. What ya want him fer? Don't recollect you two seein' eye-to-eye on anythin'."
Giles looked up at the man, a muscle twitching angrily in his jaw. "You're right, we don't. But Miss Sarah was asking, and you know how I feel about her."
Jed's smile widened in approval. "Guess I'd do anythin' for the pretty miss myself," Jed said, turning his attention back to his post.
So, even old Trail Walker would be out of the way. That old Injun would have those poor greenhorns up and down every valley between here and the Milk River! That ought to keep them all preoccupied.
He couldn't have planned things better himself. He'd find an explainable way to rid himself of Sarah before her father and Trail Walker got back. He had six days with no one around to stop him.
* * *
Giles pushed his blue cavalry cap back on his head and searched the horizon in all directions. "Keep your eyes peeled and your ears open, René. I don't want anyone sneaking up on us, or seeing me with you."
"There be miles all around us. Surely we would see a rider a half-mile away in any direction, monsieur. This does make you feel better, no?"
"I'll feel better when I've ridden those three miles back to the fort, away from you. Now, back to business. You'd better listen up good, Frenchy. You have two days to get Sarah out of Fort Bryson. Do you understand?" Giles asked, rubbing his jaw with the palm of his hand.
"Please, monsieur. How can I possibly do that in such a short time? Even the great René cannot sweet-talk the lovely mademoiselle into falling in love with him in only two days. 'Tis impossible."
Giles heard René's voice rise, and watched him grip his coffee tin. Giles had control, the way he liked things. "I don't want excuses!"
"I thought you had plans to marry the girl. Surely you jest, monsieur."
"Nonsense!" Giles twisted one corner of his mouth upward. "She is nothing to me. What would I want with a deaf wife? Besides, I don't owe you an explanation." He allowed his expression to vanish. "I'm telling you, René, get Sarah out of Fort Bryson by Friday. If you don't, I'll make certain General Bryson learns you're the Frenchy everyone's been looking for." Giles allowed his gaze to go flat and as unreadable as stone, an expression he'd worked hard to master. "What penalty do you suppose they have for white slavery? Understand me, René?"
"But, what you ask is impossible!"
"Listen, René," Giles said, moving in nose-to-nose, his voice a purposeful growl. "I'll say it one more time. I don't give a shit if it's impossible. You'll do it," he emphasized each word with an iron finger rammed against René's chest. "You know I always thought bumping into you and your wagon load of women would come in handy one day. I must admit, I had a different plan for you earlier. Now I'm glad I waited."
"I believe I should have let my men kill you, monsieur! I've been told you can't get rid of a snake by throwing it into ze bushes. It'll sneak back and bite you."
Giles laughed, allowing the sound to gurgle deep in his throat. "I don't think you should be the one talking about snakes. When you stole Becky from me, I wanted to kill you."
"But, monsieur, I did not take her. I found her running away from you when my wagons came upon her. She asked to join me," he said, shuffling his feet in the dirt.
"So you've tried to tell me. I still don't believe you."
"Monsieur Rutledge, I am not to fault that she was killed. The way she kicked and screamed, well, my men thought you were stealing her! If you remember, not one of them shot her when she started running away from you. You killed Mademoiselle Becky. It be a shame too. She would have brought a handsome price!"
Giles punched René on the cheek before thinking. He watched him sprawled on the ground, holding his bloody jaw.
"I could shoot you where you lay, you weasel! I won't because I need you. But cross me on this and I'll kill you! You understand me now?" Giles watched as a shaky René rose enough to sit.
"Qui. I understand, Monsieur Rutledge. General Bryson must never know about my wagons. They will hang me for sure if they catch me. But two days, it is not enough time. Even you said the General and Trail Walker would not be back for six days. Why must I do this in two?"
"I want her far away from Fort Bryson by the time they return. Besides, a weasel like you should be able to whisk her away in one day. You've had plenty of practice."
René stood, and then took a couple of short steps backwards. "I like to temp the young ladies, excite them and watch them squirm with desire for the great René. They all want René. It is meant to be. Ah, but then, I must disappoint them when they fall into other hands."
"I almost think you believe that hog wash, René." Giles laughed, mounting his horse as saddle leather strained in protest. After adjusting his sword, he kicked the horse's flank, then abruptly stopped in front of René. Giles horse snorted.
"By the way," Giles pressed his hat further down on his head. "You don't know me when you get to Fort Bryson."
"But, how do I get into the fort without looking suspicious?"
"You little French bastards really are stupid, aren't you? Seems I have to do the thinking for everyone around here. Why don't you try joining up with the wagon train that's arriving at the fort tomorrow? With so many new faces, who's going to notice you? I don't give a shit how you do it, just get that deaf nuisance out of Montana Territory, or you'll regret it." Watching the Frenchman dig his heels into the ground, Giles didn't miss the glaring hatred in the man's eyes.
"René understands, Monsieur Rutledge. The girl will leave Fort Bryson in two days. You have René's word."
Giles turned, smiled, and then rode away.
* * *
Frustrated, Dirk shoved his fingers through his unruly black hair. It became uncomfortable and irritating to have it blowing around his face. He missed his long, neat braids.
Shifting his large frame in his well-camouflaged tree post, Dirk observed the activities of the fort without concerns of being seen. He was long past having sore muscles from the confined space.
His vigilance had been rewarded. On several occasions he had observed Giles Rutledge leave the fort in the middle of the night, meeting with his partner, Enos.
Dirk hoped it wouldn't be long before they had the proof needed to expose Giles as the leader of the so-called Blackfeet war party. Once they found the men that were doing the raiding, it would be over. In the meantime, he'd dog Giles day and night.
Dirk had to remain a shadow. It suited his needs. He hated being made-over by the white man. Trail Walker confirmed that Sarah hadn't seen him clear enough to give a description. She remembered less than he had hoped for. His day with Sarah still lingered in his thoughts.
He had watched and memorized her lovely face, hoping to remember it a lifetime. Now he found it hard to recreate her beauty in his mind. He hated her confinement in the fort. He watched patiently, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of her.
Trail Walker had no choice but to leave the fort on an excursion. Dirk realized that left no one inside the fort to protect Sarah. What made him feel Sarah needed protecting? Were the spirits trying to warn him? Warn him about what? One thing Dirk couldn't deny and that was the constant unsettled premonition that something terrible was going to happen.
* * *
Trail Walker couldn't shake the uneasiness that followed him all day. He should have stayed at the fort this time. Sarah needed him and so did Two Shadows.
No, that would not have been wise either. It would have drawn suspicions if he refused to guide the white seizers. The young and scared recruits needed to learn about the land and how to survive it. The next six days of their lives could make a difference between living and dying.
The spirits were uneasy and Trail Walker sensed the restlessness in the air. At his old age, this would not worry him so much, except the same uneasiness, the same helplessness he felt of late reminded him of his youth…b
efore his wife and son were eaten by the white seizer's disease.
He shuddered from the thought, and then chanted a prayer toward Father Sky. He watched clouds choke the bright rays of the full moon. A distant wolf mournfully cried his lonely song.
A warning! The Old Man, Napi, had given him a sign. Did this mean Sarah was in danger? Was the warning for Two Shadows or even himself?
Sitting on a bed of dried pine needles, Trail Walker leaned his back against the pitchy bark of the old pine tree. He reached into his pack and pulled out a thick bundle of fine tanned fur, then spread it out on the ground before him. He glanced past his sacred whistle, given to him by Ni-nap'-skan, the medicine man.
He reached past the plug tobacco nestled in dried sweet grass and pungent pine needles. He respectfully lifted his black slate pipe with his fingertips. He gently stroked a white eagle feather and thought of Two Shadows. Trail Walker ran his fingers through the weasel fur strips hanging from his pipe and thought of Sarah marveling over the softness of it. He filled the pipe with tobacco and lit it. He offered it to the four directions, east, south, west and north, in that order. He offered it above to the Creator and down to Mother Earth. He prayed for the spirits in each of the directions to guard and watch over his people, Sarah and Two Shadows.
* * *
For days Fort Bryson burst with excitement. Spring had finally brought the first wagon train west. Sarah recognized the hope in the happy faces of the settlers. Like so many others, these courageous men, women and children came because of General Bryson's dream to open the west. They came to find freedom, land and a chance for a new life.
To celebrate the train's arrival, the families of the fort had planned an evening of feasting, dancing, and shared stories of travels, wars, fashions, and news of family back home.
Sarah felt the beat of the music through the vibrations of the dancers on the waxed, wooden floor. She tapped her satin-slipper foot hidden beneath her long silken skirt.
Afraid her breasts might emerge forth at any moment, Sarah struggled to refrain from pulling the daringly low bodice up to her neck. The silk hugged her bosom, ribs, waist and hips before falling in full cascades to the floor. The gown swayed as she walked, the fine fabric caressed her skin, making her feel dainty, even pretty. But the color glowed like a new gold piece. Although the height of fashion, she hated every dress her mother chose. Sarah longed for a dress like the wagon train women wore, blending-in and feeling…accepted. Instead, Sarah wrapped herself in a golden cocoon of isolated anguish.
She couldn't help but like the settlers. They were warm, kind, and grateful for the protection of the fort.
Boots and skirts spun past Sarah. She watched the energetic dancers celebrate their happiness. It took her a few seconds to realize a pair of worn boots stood just to her right. She glanced up, barely getting a glimpse of dark hair before he pulled her into his arms and twirled her across the floor, blending with the dancers.
"Who are you?" Sarah asked, pushing his chest with the palm of her hand, in order to see his face. His grip held her tight and controlled. "I cannot hear. If you don't let me see your lips, I cannot understand what you say," she said into his ear. His hold didn't change. She molded into his arms like a perfectly fit pair of gloves. A sense of protection, and an unexplained comfort or perhaps familiarity, in the arms of this stranger, overwhelmed her.
She allowed him to move her around the dance floor. She relaxed and marveled at the joy of it. She lightly rested her head against his shoulder. He smelled faintly of pine and dry cinnamon.
"You're him, aren't you? The one who bound my ribs? You got Gypsy and me back to the fort that day!" She felt his fingers dig into her side and his arm tense. He maneuvered her toward the large, open doors where a flood of welcome cool air washed over them. The vibrations of the dancers on the floor stopped and Sarah instantly lifted her head. He released his grip on her waist and she turned toward him with excited anticipation to see him. She merely caught a glimpse of his dark head, blending into the crowd as he headed out the door. She stared after him long after he'd disappeared into the night.
Sarah became painfully aware that she stood alone on the dance floor. Her heart beat hard within her chest. She gazed around the room and found several people watching her. She flushed miserably. The music resumed, thankfully. Dancers crowed the floor, allowing her to retreat with minimal embarrassment. Loneliness engulfed Sarah as she headed back to the bench along the wall.
Why had the stranger come to the dance if he hadn't wanted to be seen? There were many strangers here tonight and he fit right in. She fantasized he'd come to enjoy one dance with her. She'd spoiled it by recognizing him. Would he have stayed if she'd remained silent? Once again she had been with the sought after hero, and she couldn't describe him if she had to.
Closing her eyes, Sarah imagined his arms around her, holding her tight. His warmth reached her cheek as she pressed it into his shoulder. Once again his piquant scent filled her.
The pressure of someone touching her shoulder interrupted her thoughts. Hope filled her and she glanced up. Giles's cynical green eyes stared back at her. He didn't ask her if she wanted to dance, he merely grabbed her into his arms. He twirled her around the dancers on the floor, like the stranger had a few moments before.
A smooth dancer, Giles whisked her about the room with style. Sarah didn't relax and mold her body into his. Nor did she feel the urge to nestle her face into his shoulder. No, she didn't fit into Giles's arms. He lacked the warmth and security that her recent partner possessed.
Giles openly stared down the front of her dress, repulsing her. She'd gladly die an old maid before she'd willingly marry Giles Rutledge.
She dreamed of dark hair, large, gentle hands and the welcoming scent she'd come to long for. She choked as Giles's tainted bear grease hair tonic filtered through his sweet water. His fine-tailored clothes reeked of lye soap and she found it offensive.
Finally the dance ended and Giles walked her back to the bench. "Thank you, Sarah. That was most enjoyable. See, I told you I don't bite." He leaned closer. "Of course, after we're married…who knows?"
His exaggerated shrug made Sarah's skin crawl.
"Excuse me, Sarah. I see someone I must talk to." He walked away before she had a chance to answer.
She released a sigh of relief. She glanced to her right. Buck Anders leaned against a wall, looking her way. A warm smile spread across his face, she returned the gesture. He looked uncomfortable in his blue dress uniform that appeared a size too small. The shiny brass buttons and gold epaulets added dignity and charm. His brown hair curled at the nape of his neck, and although he was handsome, he tended to look almost pretty. He had brilliant blue eyes, small, straight nose, and thin shapely lips that tended to have a woman's softness.
Sarah drew her attention away from Buck; embarrassed to think she'd been staring at him. Her gaze rested on Melody, the mercantile owner's daughter. Sarah often imagined what it would be like to be Melody. Her parents smothered affections on her.
In the mercantile, Sarah watched Melody talk and giggle with the other girls. She longed, with every fiber of her being, to laugh and have someone her own age to talk to. But she wasn't like those girls and no amount of wishing could make it so. In the midst of a room crowded with music, dancers, talking and laughter—Sarah felt alone.
The rather small, dark-haired man dancing with Melody caught Sarah's attention. The couple appeared lost in each other's arms. Melody's body molded as one with his. They stared at each other; apparent they saw no others. Happiness radiated in her expressions. Were they in love? Sarah wondered what it felt like to love a man and want to marry him. Would a man ever love her that much?
Twisting her hands in her lap, Sarah felt forgotten in her silent world. What made her think such thoughts tonight? Was it the stranger and the way he made her feel? She was deaf. She knew better than to hope for something that couldn't be. A cloud of doom suffocated her.
She focused o
n the dancers. A sudden rush of warm color crawled up her neck, and then traveled across her cheeks. Her mother and a handsome young man whirled around the room. Rachel's bright red dress shimmered in the lantern light. Her young, handsome escort appeared to be held in a trance, his gaze openly lusting over every inch of her. Their bodies pressed intimately. Overcome with embarrassment, Sarah wanted to hide.
How would her father react to this blatant display? She searched in vain, only to remember he took the new troops out for training. She closed her eyes and offered up a silent prayer. If he were at the fort, he'd be bragging about his wonderful accomplishments here in the Wild West. They hadn't expected the wagon train to arrive until next week. The General would be angry when he learned he'd missed the first big party.
Looking around, Sarah noticed many watched Rachel and her partner. The men's expressions were of lust and want and the women's reactions were of disgust. Sarah watched her mother's bold display. It wouldn't be long before they would disappear into the night. Closing her eyes, Sarah felt shame and embarrassment for her mother, as well as for herself. Why did her mother feel a need to prove she could still attract a man? She seemed to need all those young men. Why couldn't she need her daughter?
Sarah missed Trail Walker. She felt no warmth here, except for that wonderful dance she shared with the stranger.
The night dragged on. Sarah leaned wearily against the wall. She wanted to go home, but duty insisted she stay. She struggled to be the lady her mother expected, even though she hated every minute of it.
Aware a pair of boots inched in front of her, she looked up to find Buck extending his hand toward her, an invitation to dance. She smiled up at him, then walked out on the dance floor. Gratefully, the music slowed, which made it easier to see her partner's lips.
"You're a good dancer, Buck."
"Thank you, Miss Sarah. I noticed you dance well yourself. How can you do it so good without hearing the music?"
